


(Don’t) Behave

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Face-Fucking, First Time, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy is a bit of a mess, and Harry is at his wits’ end with his eighteen-year-old godson. Sending him to Charlie, thinking the older man could knock some sense into the kid, seemed like a great idea. Charlie, however, thinks Teddy is just fine as he is—more than fine, in fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Don’t) Behave

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely Capitu, this might not be what you had in mind for the prompt, but I do hope you like it! I loved the scenario and all the possibilities this created for the characters involved. And, of course, I do love Charlie and Teddy.  
> Thanks to my darling beta, for the speedy proof! <3

***

Charlie didn’t quite understand why Harry wanted to send Teddy to him. Sweet kid, Charlie remembered; shy, loved crocodiles, was a bit on the quiet side—except when he wasn’t. Like the time he’d said “ _fuck_ ” at the top of his lungs when he was six, at Fleur’s birthday. No idea who he’d learned that from, but Ginny was looking equal parts amused and hideously guilty. Andromeda looked like she was ready to leave the country and never return. Charlie always liked Teddy after that. Might be a bit of a ticking time-bomb though, he’d thought back then, given all that he was and all his parents had been. And the fact that they weren’t around anymore. But Charlie wasn’t around much himself, either, so he’d missed almost all of Teddy's teenage years. Until, that is, Harry had written to ask if Charlie could help set a somewhat wayward Teddy on the _‘straight and narrow’_ over the summer.

Charlie had frowned at the letter Harry had sent him, distractedly feeding the long-distance messenger owl. Straight and narrow weren’t really things he’d ever been described as, but all the same, he’d said he’d try and help. They needed a new pen-hand after all, if Teddy felt like working. Not that Charlie was going to make him, though. The last thing they needed was someone working with dragons who really didn’t want to; that was how people ended up dead and rather crispy. 

Two weeks later when he saw Teddy on his doorstep, pink hair and leather boots, expression a combination of bruised pride and determination, Charlie thought he understood a bit better. There were rings on Teddy’s fingers, in his ears and nose, and a large tattoo peeking out the top of his black t-shirt. Yeah, Charlie thought as he smiled and ushered the kid inside. He got it. 

Harry never really knew what to do with problems he couldn’t handle, and _this_ , Charlie thought as he watched Teddy unpack, would seem like a problem to Harry. Poor Harry, Charlie sighed. Man had a heart of gold, and nothing but good intentions, but he was also six kinds of messed up when it came to parenting, sex and teenagers. All things which an eighteen year old either needed, wanted, or was. Charlie couldn’t blame Harry though, really, after the childhood he’d had. It stood to reason Harry'd end up with hangups the size of the ninety-year-old Horntail they had out back, not to mention that they’d be as difficult to handle. 

No, Charlie could understand Harry’s reasoning, but from where he was looking, Teddy seemed like a perfectly normal teenager, albeit a rather, well, _adorned_ one. And a very hurt one too, if the way his face screwed up and went red at the mention of his godfather, or why Harry had sent him here, was anything to go by. Poor Harry and his good intentions—what was it again that the road to hell was paved with? 

Charlie could sympathise, to some extent; his mother had flipped out too, when Bill got a piercing and brought home that punky Muggle-born girl with the safety pins in her ears and the tattoo-artist parents. She’d hit the ceiling, huffing and puffing, but really, all she’d done was teach her kids to be sneaky about things like that. Charlie had six tattoos now, ranging in size from as small as a galleon to as big as his left thigh, and all hidden entirely from his mother. He knew for a fact that Bill had more than his ears pierced now, too. So did Fleur, for that matter. 

Charlie had to admit, he did rather suspect that Teddy might have done a bit more than that to get sent all the way to Romania. But then again, for all he knew, it _had_ been something as benign as a piercing, or bringing someone home which Harry or Teddy’s nan thought was a bit unsuitable. Charlie vaguely recalled something about Teddy spending time with the Malfoys—they were cousins, second cousins, something complicated like that—and Harry had definitely always had a stick up his arse about that family. One member of that family in particular.

Perhaps, Charlie mused as he mucked out the pens three nights later, Teddy had said _fuck_ again at an inappropriate time, like he’d done when he was six. Perhaps to Harry’s face in the heat of an argument. It was a surprisingly chilly evening, and Teddy was watching him work, lurking in the pen doorway and refusing to admit he was freezing in his see-through, black mesh t-shirt and torn denims. He was refusing to go back inside, too; Charlie was beginning to suspect that Teddy didn’t really like being alone. He wondered if that was something new, something Teddy had found in this foreign land, or if Teddy had brought that with him from home. Either way, Charlie didn’t mind being shadowed. There was something comforting about Teddy’s silent silhouette casting long shapes in doorways, or the way he always appeared in a room soon after Charlie had entered it. Charlie had grown up in a big family, and the community here was quite tight-knit; he was never happier than in a crowd, even if Teddy did make for a rather small one. 

Teddy watched him until his work was complete, and in the end Charlie decided that he wasn’t going to pry into whatever Teddy had done, or whatever Harry thought Teddy had done. Perhaps both of them just needed a bit of space. He stood with a creak of joints, wiping dirty hands on his weathered work trousers, and draped his coat over the kid’s shivering shoulders, followed by a burly arm. He steered him back up to to the house, then played cards and drank ale with Teddy until well after midnight. Teddy fell asleep on the couch, almost too tall to fit, and Charlie left him there, wrapped in a blanket his mum had sent up a few years back. Charlie smoothed Teddy’s yellow and black hair off his forehead, and sighed. No, he wasn’t going to pry. 

When Teddy came on to him six nights, one letter from Harry, and three glasses of bad wine later, Charlie wasn’t surprised. He was still in shape, still did alright when he could bother to try. The clubs up in town were better than one would expect, and about once a month Charlie would drag himself out there, find someone warm and willing for the night. He didn’t need it often, but when he got it, he liked it hard, and long. He liked to take his time, work his lover up until they begged for it, and then fuck them until they begged again, for more, for less, for everything. He usually slept with people a little older than Teddy though, a little more experienced and a little less vulnerable and jagged around the edges. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested, and Charlie had always been a bad liar. 

But as well as being in shape, he was also well aware that he was pushing forty-five and Teddy was fresh out of school. He knew what Teddy was doing here, looking at him like that. Rebellion came in all shapes and sizes, and fucking the man your pseudo-father thought would be a good influence on you was pretty much what Charlie would have done in this situation. Hell, if his mum had sent him away to Romania for being a bit of a handful, Charlie would have fucked his way through the whole community of dragon handlers, and then eloped with the biggest, hairiest one there, just to spite her. Made sense that Teddy would have the same idea, would watch him from across the room on a warm night, eyes dark and lower lip pulled between his teeth.

Teddy stood in front of him, lips faintly stained red from the cheap Shiraz, and swung a leg over Charlie’s thighs as he sat in his lounge chair. Charlie watched him, watched the way Teddy moved with such a strange combination of teenaged insecurity and confidence, as Teddy settled himself in his lap. He felt the heat pool along his spine, in his groin, up the backs of his thighs. It didn’t surprise him that Teddy would do this, no, but it did surprise him how much Charlie didn't want him to stop. 

And after all, Charlie reasoned as he rested his hands on Teddy’s strong, jeans-clad thighs, better it be Charlie than one of the other dragon tamers, who perhaps wouldn’t be quite so kind. He’d already overheard Hemsley mumbling about Teddy being ‘jailbait’, and he was a lecherous arsehole at the best of times. Teddy seemed just reckless enough to try and do something like that, and that might itch a scratch, sure. But Charlie could make this _good_. If there was one thing he knew how to do well, it was fuck. True, he hadn't thought about it before—hadn’t thought about tangling his hands in Teddy’s hair, running them along his back and over his arse, kissing him until he couldn't breathe. But he was definitely thinking about it now, as he toyed with the hem of Teddy’s shirt before lifting it over his head.

The sight of Teddy in just his jeans, mouth open in invitation as he straddled Charlie’s lap, didn’t make Charlie want to be gentle, but he was. Charlie kissed along his collarbone, mouthed the line of his throat as he eased one hand down the back of Teddy’s jeans, ran a finger over his hole through the fabric of his underwear. He felt Teddy shiver and cant his hips, and Charlie did it again. _Responsive_ , he thought. He liked it when they were responsive, when they had buttons he could push. Learning where those buttons were, what would drive someone wild, was one of Charlie’s favourite things. 

He didn't want to make Teddy beg, like he usually might, he realised. He did want to see how hard he could make him come, though. How fast, how many times. Like a hurricane, in under ten minutes, and within twenty minutes of finishing the first time, was the answer. Charlie found this out on the floor of his lounge room, on a sticky summer's night, and then again in Charlie’s bed, on clean, cool sheets. Teddy was eager, inexperienced but not entirely green; he wrapped his legs around Charlie’s waist, and Charlie let him set the pace, while he set the rhythm. Teddy didn't make a lot of noise at first, Charlie noted, but when he started he couldn't seem to stop. Little hitching gasps, then louder, until he was moaning into Charlie’s mouth, fingers scrabbling at the nape of his neck and heels digging into his back. Charlie wanted to kiss him, but he wanted to hear him more, so he locked his elbows, circled his hips to find that sweet spot—just, ah, _there_ we go—and watched Teddy fall apart.

When Teddy came he barely made a sound at all, but his face screwed up in surprise like no one had ever told him sex could feel this good. Charlie could get used to seeing that look, he decided, before he stopped thinking altogether. He thrust short and fast, and came hard, face buried in the crook of Teddy’s neck, Teddy’s hand on his arse, urging him on. 

Afterwards, Teddy told him quietly that had been the first time he’d done that. Charlie wasn’t surprised, again. Teddy looked like he had more he wanted to say, but he didn’t, resting his head on Charlie’s chest and running his fingers through the hair on his belly, back and forth. Charlie thought about pressing him to keep talking, then kissed him on the forehead instead and fell into a restless, hot sleep. 

In the morning, he woke to hands on his cock, lips against his throat and a hot, hard heat against his thigh. He fucked Teddy again, pushed his lube-wet fingers in and out and then eased his cock inside as Teddy writhed against the mattress. Charlie pressed his face into the back of Teddy’s neck, thrusting in and out, in, out. Teddy moaned into the pillow, hitched his hips to get the angle right, before coming with a fabric-muffled shout. Charlie pulled out and buried his face between Teddy’s cheeks, licking at the tender flesh there. He fisted his own cock, biting at the top of Teddy’s thigh when he came, and that would have been enough to get them both started again, if the dragon mares hadn't needed feeding. 

And, Charlie thought belatedly as he pulled his work gear on, because spending the entire day fucking the kid he was apparently mentoring was probably not what Harry’d had in mind when he sent him here. 

Charlie left Teddy in bed, a naked sleeping sprawl of limbs, while he went out and worked. He waited for the guilt, or regret, to settle in, but it didn't. He felt fine. It had possibly been a really, really big mistake, but it was definitely one of the most attractive and rewarding ones Charlie had made in his forty odd years. He resolved to beat himself up about it at a later date, if and when it became necessary. He saw no point in feeling bad for feeling-bad’s sake. He waved at Petra, before closing up the feeding station and heading back to his home. 

One week later, Teddy asked if he could help with the dragons, and Charlie let him. Charlie started him in with the youngest dragon hatchlings, and Teddy was pretty useless for the first day or two. He was smart, and learnt quickly, but he was distractible. For his part, Charlie could vaguely recall being on the cusp of nineteen and ruled by his dick, and he found he really wasn’t very good at telling Teddy no. Luckily the general attitude at the Romanian Keep was ‘ _fuck as much as you like, but get the work done’_. It wasn’t an official policy, but it worked well enough for them; close quarters like this, people tended to need to blow off steam. Pushing between Teddy’s lips as he knelt behind the Ridgeback Incubation Station, Charlie couldn’t help but appreciate the genius of that policy. Charlie _had_ been surprised to find that Teddy knew what he was doing there, and teaching him the finer points of taking Charlie all the way down, letting him thrust between his lips into that gorgeous mouth, was proving to be the highlight of Charlie’s summer. For his part, Teddy fucking loved it, and the sight of Teddy’s fist flying over his own cock as he moaned around Charlie’s was enough to make him come every time. 

Eventually, Teddy asked him if he’d ever known his parents. Charlie told him everything he could. He pulled out the best brandy, and reminisced, and Teddy listened with rapt attention, long fingers wrapped around his glass. His knobbly knees poked out of his ripped jeans, oversized jumper falling off one shoulder, hair a turquoise mess. Charlie thought Tonks and Remus’s kid was possibly the loveliest thing he’d ever seen, and it broke his heart a little that they’d never get to see that. But then again, he thought with a sniff and large swig of burning liquor, it also meant they didn’t have to see Charlie eating him out behind the Horntail pens two days earlier, so. You win some, you lose some. 

One day, Teddy was going to grow into those knees, and into himself, Charlie knew that for a fact. He was going to command that height, not shrink under it like he did now. He was going to break at least a dozen hearts, Charlie mused, and not mean to do it a single time. Hell, he was definitely going to break Charlie’s a little. Charlie almost looked forward to it. It’d been a long time since he’d been invested in someone. He was going to have to take care not to return the favour, though. He’d fucked a few things up in his time, but an eighteen year old’s emotional well-being was not something he was keen to add to the list. If he wasn’t already, that is. No, he was pretty sure Teddy was doing ok. 

Between the two of them, and Charlie’s stories, they finished the bottle. Charlie didn’t fuck Teddy that night, but instead poured him into his own bed, both of them drunker and far more morose than he’d anticipated. Teddy curled around his pillow, hugged it to his chest silently, and Charlie flicked the fan on and the lights out before stumbling into his own room. He couldn't stop thinking about Remus, about Tonks and Fred, their faces flitting before him as he struggled to unlace his boots, undo his shirt. He was too old to be seeing the faces of people long-gone in the bottom of every bottle, and just old enough that he couldn't seem to stop. He rubbed his face, calloused palms catching on stubble. Poor Harry. Poor Teddy. Poor fucking George. Too many orphans, too many brothers without brothers. He stood and then sat back down again with a mumbled “ _fuck it._ ” He pulled the covers over himself, too tired to get properly undressed. His head swam, and his chest ached, and he fell into an agitated, drunken sleep. 

Teddy woke him up by crawling into bed with him just before dawn, face red and eyes suspiciously bright. He silently tangled his cold feet up with Charlie’s and didn’t say a word, but Charlie thought he got it. He probably would have had a bad sleep, have needed a cry and a hug, if he was Teddy. Hell, he possibly needed that anyway; he was turning into a right morose, old fuck these days. He watched the ceiling fan spin lazily, and slipped back into a heavy sleep, one arm around Teddy and the other hanging off the bed. 

Later that morning, when the sun was properly up and blasting its unwelcome presence into the room, Teddy asked if he could stay a bit longer than just the summer. Charlie blinked fully awake and turned onto his side. He looked at Teddy with his messy mop of sandy hair and grey nightshirt, and wondered how to reply. He knew what he _wanted_ to say. He also knew there were probably reasons why that wouldn't be a great idea, and that it was his job to think of them. Nothing really came to mind though—nothing that sounded plausible, or that he could say and mean it. He really was a bad liar. So he pulled Teddy in for a kiss, morning breath be damned, and said he could stay as long as he wanted. 

Autumn was nice here after all, and winter was bitter, but Teddy was welcome to the lot if he wanted it. Charlie wasn't about to kick him out, he knew that much, and there was no one beating his door down to use the spare room. Charlie doubted he’d be able to send Teddy back even if there was, not if Teddy wanted to stay. Teddy really could stay as long as he wanted; half generous, half selfish as he knew that was, Charlie meant it all the same. 

Teddy smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners like Charlie had said he could have two Christmases, and Charlie couldn't help but smile back. He ran his fingers through Teddy’s messy hair, then ruffled it and pulled the blanket over his head, telling him gruffly to go back to sleep. Teddy laughed, a soft, muffled sound, as he struggled under the covers, and Charlie grinned as he flicked the curtains closed. They could ignore the sun a bit longer, he decided.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Please show your appreciation for the author here, or on [LIVEJOURNAL](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/30585.html)! ♥


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